


Canvas

by gemjam



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When stuck in a tent during a rainstorm, there's really only one thing to do...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canvas

Luckily they’re nearly at the end of the trail when the rain starts. The heat has been unrelenting since they arrived a couple of days ago and after the long and strenuous bike ride the rain actually comes as a relief. Still, as it starts to get heavier, Mark’s glad they won’t be stuck out in it for too long.

A friend had recommended the place, telling him that the mountain bike trails from the campsite were well worth a visit, and they’d found that to be more than true. It was a beautiful setting, long runs out into the fields, more challenging terrain up in the woods. A perfect little mini-vacation as far as Mark’s concerned.

As they approach the campsite, dirt splattered up their legs, Mark can’t quite tell what’s sweat and what’s rain anymore. The place is pretty empty as they ride into the clearing, some people huddled in the entrances of their tents, looking out at the downpour, others zipped away out of sight.

Usually Mark would do a little cool down, take a shower, get some hydration, but the rain dripping down his neck makes him feel like a kid caught in a thunderstorm and he toes off his muddy trainers in the entrance, diving inside the tent. Mitch sits half in half out, pulling off his shoes and socks and then trying to brush the dirt off his shins.

“Hurry up,” Mark tells him, sprawling out on the sleeping bags and not caring that he’s probably getting them muddy. It’ll brush off when it’s dry.

“The rain’s not getting in,” Mitch dismisses. “It’s not like it’s cold.”

“I don’t care,” Mark says pointedly, giving him a look. “Hurry up.”

A smile crosses over Mitch’s face followed by the pinkening of his cheeks and Mark kind of loves that he can have that effect on someone who should really be chasing pretty things his own age. Mark’s probably just a passing novelty to him but he’s more than happy to be along for the ride.

Mitch abandons his task and pulls his legs inside the tent, zipping it up. Mark smiles at him, more than a little smug. The limited height of the tent means they can’t stand up but it’s still a very appealing sight to see Mitch crawling towards him. He straddles Mark’s hips, just able to sit up, and Mark slides his hands deliberately over his lycra-clad thighs, resting them on his hips. He gives a suggestive little tug downwards and Mitch places his hands on Mark’s chest to keep his balance.

“What was it you were in such a rush for?” Mitch asks innocently.

Mark tightens his grip on Mitch’s hips, forcing him downwards as he grinds up against him. Mitch makes a needy little sound, biting down on his lip.

“Nothing, mate,” Mark responds. “Can’t think of a thing.”

He lifts his hips up again and Mitch meets him, circling down so their crotches rub together. The layer of lycra is so thin, letting through all of the sensation but masking that wonderful feeling of skin dragging against skin. They move together, Mitch’s body so fluid above him, and Mark thinks he could lie here and watch this all day.

The sound of the rain against the tent, the canvas so close to them, it adds a claustrophobic feel to what they’re doing. The air is still, trapping in the primal scents of sweat and ozone and mud, making Mitch’s rasping breaths sound even louder. Mark lifts his hands, tugging at the hem of Mitch’s top.

“Take it off.”

Mitch ignores him, tiny noises escaping him as he thrusts down against Mark, hands still braced on Mark’s chest, making it hard for him to breathe. Mark grabs hold of him, flipping them over, pinning Mitch’s hands to either side of his head. Mitch makes a winded sound, looking disorientated.

“I asked you to do something, mate,” Mark points out.

“Was busy,” Mitch responds. He hitches his hips up but he can’t get any leverage with Mark weighing him down. “Come on,” he whines.

“Eager,” Mark chastises.

“You were the one who couldn’t wait for me to zip the tent up,” Mitch points out.

“But now I have you,” Mark says. “I can take my time.” He dips his head, kissing Mitch’s neck, grazing his teeth over his pulse point. He tastes salty and earthy and addictive. “Strip,” Mark tells him, hands sliding away from his wrists.

“You’re...” Mitch starts to protest.

“Now,” Mark says firmly.

As Mitch reaches down, Mark shifts himself back to offer him just enough room to pull his shirt upwards, his face grazing Mitch’s chest as he sits himself up enough to tug it over his head. Mark places a few kisses there, flicking his tongue teasingly over a nipple, before shifting downwards, lips moving over his stomach, making him sigh. Mark smiles to himself, nipping at the soft flesh with his teeth before moving back up.

“Keep going,” he encourages.

“You’re really going to have to move now,” Mitch tells him.

Mark considers his position, kneeling between Mitch’s spread thighs, and there’s no way Mitch can get his legs close enough together to get out of the tight cycling shorts.

“I’m not moving,” Mark tells him. “You’re just going to have to work it out.”

Mitch pulls a confused expression, his eyebrows drawn in bemusement and his mouth curved up in a little smile, and Mark finds it so endearing he can’t help stealing a kiss. He pulls back, hovering over Mitch’s body, waiting to see what he’s going to do next. Mitch lifts his hips to push the shorts down over his arse, his cock springing out, and then he pulls his knees up to his chest, slipping the shorts down his thighs, over his knees, freeing them from his feet.

Before he can put his legs back down, Mark grabs his ankles, forcing them up into the air, toes grazing the canvas of the tent. He places a kiss on one of Mitch’s calves, just below the crease of his knee, a spot where he’s squirmingly sensitive. He does the same at the other side and then leans down further, kissing down his thighs.

“You’re not going to,” Mitch dismisses.

Mark pulls his ankles apart so he can see him through his open legs. He gives him a challenging look, moving further down, getting closer to his arse. He licks the smooth flesh of his thigh, wriggling his tongue suggestively. Mitch frowns, his mouth twitching.

“After I’ve been on that bike all day?” he asks with disbelief. “I’m sweaty and gross and, just, no.” He shakes his head. Mark’s mouth moves lower. “You’re not going to,” Mitch repeats.

Mark gives a breath of laughter against the sensitive flesh before shoving both Mitch’s legs away to land heavily on the sleeping bags, the momentum pulling Mitch’s whole body onto its side. Mark moves in close, spooning up behind him, grinding his still clothed hard on against Mitch’s arse.

“You would have loved it.”

“Take your clothes off,” Mitch responds, body pushing back against him.

“Patience, grasshopper,” Mark tells him, reaching his hand down to make a loose fist around Mitch’s cock.

Mitch grunts, hips pushing into it, eyes falling closed. Mark kisses his neck, touches him lightly, loving how responsive his body is. He doesn’t really miss the days when his hormones ruled his life, everything always clouded with a haze of lust and desire whether it was relevant to the situation or not, but sometimes he wishes he could feel that desperate abandon that he sadly grew out of at some point. This has never been about anything so pathetic as recapturing his youth, but he likes the way his experience plays against Mitch’s enthusiasm, complimenting each other perfectly.

When he feels the first drops of precome dampening the tip of Mitch’s cock he pulls his hand away, sitting up.

“Fucking tease,” Mitch complains.

“You told me to take my clothes off,” Mark points out.

Mitch rolls onto his back to look up at him. “Okay.”

Mark pulls his shirt over his head, noticing that the sound of the rain against the roof of the tent has nearly stopped now. Just a summer shower. He pushes his shorts down, his striptease a little awkward in the cramped conditions, but once he’s naked Mitch’s eyes scan him shamelessly, his lips parted and his face flushed. As Mark moves over to join him, settling between Mitch’s spread thighs, there’s the sound of the tent next to them zipping open, a girl calling to her friends that she’s going to the toilet block. Mark wraps his hand around Mitch’s cock, stroking more firmly than he was before.

“You hear that?” he asks.

Mitch’s eyes flick to the wall of their tent, the murmured voices of their neighbours making their way through. He nods his head, frowning slightly like he doesn’t understand the importance. Mark strokes him more firmly, leaning down to whisper into his ear.

“If you can hear them, they can hear you,” he warns.

He moves his mouth lower, sucking on Mitch’s neck, stroking him faster. His other hand goes down to cup Mitch’s balls, squeezing and pulling. Mitch moans.

“Shhh,” Mark chides. “Got to be quiet. Don’t make a sound.”

Mitch gives him a look, part irritation, part pleading desperation. Mark pulls both his hands away, sitting up.

“Okay,” Mitch says quickly, voice hushed. “Okay. I can be quiet.”

“I know you can,” Mark agrees, looking through the side pocket of his bag. “Even if I have to gag you.” He pulls out the lube, holding it up to Mitch. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy for you.”

“Whatever,” Mitch dismisses, opening his thighs wider and shifting so he can angle his hips up. He takes his own cock in his hand, stroking lightly.

“Do you even need me?” Mark asks, flipping open the lube.

Mitch shrugs, but as soon as Mark’s slick finger touches his entrance the smirk falls off his face and he bites down on his lip to keep himself quiet. Mark teases his finger against the opening, Mitch’s hips rocking into the movement, and if Mark had the patience he’d see how long it would take for Mitch to beg. He’s still high on adrenaline from the bike ride though, hormones pumping, and something about the situation is making him even more impatient.

He presses his finger inside, matching the rhythm Mitch is stroking himself with, slow and dragging and just a little bit ragged. He can see it flicker across Mitch’s face, that connected feeling of everything being in sync, and Mitch groans, arching his back. Mark smiles, leaning over him, licking at his bottom lip and forcing him to release it from his teeth. He kisses him, deep and demanding, and Mark loves that Mitch is always up for this, an eagerness that makes him careless about clashing teeth or accidental bites as they try to devour each other. As Mark slides a second finger inside him Mitch moans into his mouth, sharp and strident.

“They can hear you,” Mark reminds him. Mitch shakes his head. “Oh, yeah,” Mark insists.

He shifts back, putting a little more space between them so he can watch Mitch’s flushed and panting body. He curls his fingers, feeling the inside wall for a couple of thrusts until he finds it, pressing his fingers against Mitch’s prostate and watching the breathy exhalation that obviously wants to me a moan. Mark doesn’t bother hiding the smug expression on his face, doing it again.

Mitch’s hand falls away from his cock, the sensations clearly jumping up the scale, and he starts to whine in the back of his throat, tiny little sounds of desperation. As Mark’s fingers continue to thrust into him he places his thumb behind Mitch’s balls, pushing against that spot that makes him shiver and squirm. Mitch’s hands grand handfuls of sleeping bag, his whole body winding tight.

“Shhh shhh shhh,” Mark reminds him as he starts to get more vocal.

“Fucking bastard,” Mitch grits out.

“Shall I stop?” Mark asks innocently, rubbing more firmly against Mitch’s prostate to prove his point.

Mitch grunts. “Get on with it.”

Mark grins, sliding his fingers out and slicking up his cock. He leans over Mitch again, lining himself up, and Mark kind of loves this moment, when their bodies are so close and their breaths are intermingled and everything is pure, wanton anticipation. He presses himself against Mitch’s entrance, pushing into that wonderful pressure that he knows will envelope him and drag him in just as soon as he breaches it.

Mitch’s breath catches in his throat and Mark can’t help how much it turns him on to have Mitch on the back foot. He thrusts forward, slow but insistent, feeling the way Mitch’s body opens up to him like this is everything he’s needed his entire life. It’s overwhelming, being squeezed and pulled and burned by it, and if Mitch knew how much power he had over Mark in this moment he’d never let him live it down.

He stills inside Mitch, all heat and closeness, taking a moment to collect himself under the guise of letting Mitch adjust. Mark thinks, in all honesty, they both need this moment as much as each other.

Now that the rain has stopped they can hear more people moving around, footsteps so close to where they lie. Mark feels completely exposed, only the thinnest of barriers protecting them from the rest of the campsite. Every little sound seems to filter through the canvas and Mark’s sure it must work both ways. If nothing else he feels like they must be able to smell them; it stinks of sweat and testosterone and sex. The fact that it’s in such an enclosed space makes Mark feel a lightheaded. He looks to the wall of the tent, listening to the sound of someone walking past no more than a couple of feet away from them, and the fragility of the barrier gives him an undeniable thrill. He looks down at Mitch.

“Shhh,” Mitch teases, but Mark can see it on his face, that same emotion mirrored back at him, and it makes Mark feel like they’re a couple of naughty kids behind the bike sheds, getting high on doing something they know they shouldn’t be doing.

Mark rocks his hips, keeping his eyes locked with Mitch’s, watching it wash over his face. Mitch makes a little noise that gets caught in his throat and Mark grins, grabbing him behind his thighs and bending his knees up to his chest. Mitch offers him slightly dazed cooperation, hooking his ankles over Mark’s shoulders. Mark plants his hands on the floor either side of Mitch’s body for leverage.

“Remember not to scream, mate,” he says before he pulls almost all the way out and slams into Mitch’s body.

Mitch shudders but he doesn’t make a sound, everything expressed so transparently on his face, and Mark realises this is going to be a lot of fun. He does it again, trying to push himself a little deeper, trying to fuck Mitch right into the ground. Mitch gasps, his hands grabbing hold of Mark’s biceps and digging in. His eyes are wide, almost frightened, and it’s been a long time since Mark’s really been able to overwhelm him like this. Mark’s been blasé about sex for what feels like decades now, but Mitch is only just getting to that stage so it’s so much easier to strip it away from him.

He sets up a punishing rhythm, knowing that neither of them wants anything more than a quick fuck right now, a rush of endorphins. The objective is to get away with this, not to make it last. Mitch throws his head back, mouth wide open, eyes squeezed shut, and Mark has to bite down on his own lip to stop himself groaning at the sight. He soon comes up with a better idea though and leans forward to bite Mitch’s neck instead. Mitch makes a strangled sound that vibrates right through Mark’s body.

Mark moves his mouth upwards, licking over Mitch’s jaw, all smooth skin; he hasn’t quite gained the ability to produce real stubble yet. Mitch moves his head towards him, making a small noise as he seeks him out, and the kiss is suffocating, so much so Mark’s certain it’s only aim is to keep them quiet. Mark’s not sure it matters how much they’re vocalising anymore, the slapping sounds of skin against skin as he thrusts harshly into Mitch’s body can’t be leaving much to the imagination.

Mark imagines the campsite, the people he’s spoken to in passing over their time here, the girls in the tent next door who invited them to the pub, the hiking couple who recommended the trail he and Mitch tried out today, and the normalcy of what’s going on just outside their paper-thin boundaries turns him on more than he’d ever imagine. Mark’s spent too many years in the spotlight, all eyes on him, to wish for anything other than anonymity when it came to something so intimate, but that canvas layer offers him fragile protection to hide just enough of himself and let everything else truly go. They can’t see him but maybe they know and that makes Mark feel dirty and sexual and so close to coming.

He rests all his weight heavily on one arm, grasping for Mitch’s cock desperately with the other. He’s the first one to make a needy noise, despite his attempts to make Mitch crack, but he’s much too far gone to care now. Something has snapped and all he wants to do now is take. He thrusts harder, more insistently, tugs on Mitch’s cock just as roughly, and Mitch just lies there, panting and writhing and sweaty and flushed. It’s more than Mark can handle right now.

He squeezes his eyes closed, thinks about his angle, tries to take himself back from the brink by focussing on Mitch. It has the desired effect and Mitch starts to hum, a strained little note before it breaks and Mark can hear those beautiful abandoned sounds, muted as they are, that always go along with come splashing over Mark’s knuckles, his cock being squeezed deep inside Mitch’s body.

Mark doesn’t even try and stop himself falling after him, a few more messy thrusts and he’s coming inside Mitch, growling low in his throat as his hand curls into a fist around the sleeping bag, his whole body reverberating with it. He doesn’t open his eyes until the edge has receded, gazing down at Mitch who looks utterly wrecked, and Mark smiles at him. The sight of Mitch in that post-orgasmic haze never fails to make Mark feels satisfied.

He pushes Mitch’s legs from his shoulders, rolling off to him to sprawl out on his back with a contented sigh. He feels his eyes drifting closed, his heartbeat starting to slow as his body threatens to melt right through the ground. He hears Mitch moving around beside him.

“Towel?” he asks.

Mark lifts his head to see Mitch reaching over to dig in the bag beside him. He looks to his own side of the tent and spies one, tossing it over.

“Thanks,” Mitch says, half-heartedly cleaning himself before just shoving the towel underneath him and clearly deciding he’ll deal with it later. Mark can’t help but smile. “Do you think they heard us?” Mitch asks.

“Yup,” Mark says. “And now those girls next door know that you whimper when you come.”

“Oh, right,” Mitch argues. “What about you?”

“Me?” Mark asks, letting his head fall to the side to raise his eyebrows at him. “Mate, I sound _incredibly_ manly when I come.”

Mitch laughs and then reaches for the nearest thing, Mark’s cycling top, throwing it at him.

“You’re just jealous,” Mark says, closing his eyes and relaxing into the sleeping bags. “It’ll come to you.”

“Whatever, old man,” Mitch dismisses, sitting up. “Unlike you, I don’t need a nap after doing anything slightly strenuous.” Mark doesn’t respond, just listens to him moving around, zipping and unzipping his bag. “You want to protect your modesty before I open this?” Mitch asks.

Mark looks over to see him ready to unzip the tent flap. “What modesty?”

Mitch gives him a look, even as his mouth curls up into a smile, before grabbing one of the sleeping bags and throwing it over him. “I’m going to grab a shower,” he says.

“Have fun,” Mark responds with a wave of his hand, settling back down on the makeshift bed.

“I’ll think of you,” Mitch says, the flirtation clear in his voice.

“Kids,” Mark says, shaking his head. “Fucking insatiable.”

“One more area where you can’t keep up with me,” Mitch says, unzipping the tent.

“We’re back on the bikes after lunch,” Mark tells him. “Then we’ll see who can’t keep up.”

Mitch grins at him. “Deal.”

As the tent is zipped back up, Mark wonders if it’s really such a smart wager.


End file.
